


Fire Meet Gasoline

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Flirting, Teacher-Student Relationship, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Clara Oswald is an English student who has it all: good grades, a five-year plan, and a happy long-term relationship. Turning up to the first lecture of her final year, she meets John Smith, an unconventional English professor who seems determined to push her buttons, and takes an instant dislike to him. But as the weeks go on, her aversion to him begins to turn into something else: something that makes her question who she is, and threatens to blow her world apart...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Lostboy, who following his reading of [Looking For Something Dumb To Do](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6050947) asked:
> 
> _Why does Nina hate Clara so much? What happened between them?_
> 
> This was the ensuing result of that prompt, and an idea I've been sitting on for about six months now.
> 
> Huge kudos to [Alex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman), whose [latest stories](http://archiveofourown.org/series/579631) inspired parts of this work.

“We’re late.”

Clara groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling the duvet over her head as she did so, determined to block out the insistent, nagging voice emanating from the foot of her bed. “No,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Nope.” 

“Clara Alison Oswald, I did not decide to spend the best part of three years of my life following your sorry arse to York to study English only for you to sleep through lectures. You’re a waste of space. Get up.” 

Clara groaned again and opened one eye a crack, taking in the sight of her girlfriend, poised over the bed with a pillow in her hand. “Neen-” 

The pillow smacked into her face and she swore, sitting up and rubbing the end of her nose. “Wake up,” Nina reiterated, pulling away from Clara and returning to her perch at the end of the bed, from where she grinned encouragingly at her girlfriend. “Final year! Day one! Let’s go. Up, up, up.” 

“I hate you,” Clara muttered without malice, rolling out of bed and beginning to pull on the first clean clothes she could find. Half-in and half-out of a pair of jeans, she added for posterity: “Besides, didn’t ask you to follow me, did I?” 

“Wasn’t like there was anything better to do in Blackpool, was it?” Nina wrinkled her nose, admiring her view of Clara’s arse as she spoke. “So following you here actually worked out quite well for me. Besides, seventy percent of long-distance relationships fail.”

“You made that figure up on the spot, didn’t you?” 

“Read something about it in _Cosmo_ last week. The numbers elude me, but I recall that it’s a large amount. Didn’t want you eloping with some Yorkshire lass, did I? Not when I’m dating the best thing to come out of Blackpool.” Nina smirked. “Also the best thing to come _in_ Blackpool.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Clara rolled her eyes, applying makeup hastily in the dim half-light of her new bedroom and grimacing at the result. “Absolutely incorrigible.” 

“So punish me.”

“Nina, we’re already late,” Clara reminded her. “Remember? There was a pillow involved. Late. First day back. Some bollocks like that.” 

“I vaguely recall mentioning it,” Nina said with a regretful sigh. “There was just this _really fit_ girl undressing, which distracted me. We’re already late anyway. Why not be later?”

“Because your idea of later is fucking me until we’re so late we just don’t go at all, and then spending the entire day in bed,” Clara shot her girlfriend a withering look, compounded with a playful wink. “I know you, Neen.” 

“So you know I’m holding you to the promise of making it up to me later, right?”

“Yeah,” Clara concurred with an easy grin, grabbing her bag before leaning down to kiss her girlfriend. “Now, you coming, or what?”

 

* * *

 

“Look,” Clara hissed triumphantly, as they slid into the last remaining seats in the lecture theatre. “Two minutes to the hour and he’s not even here yet. We’re not even _slightly_ late. Who’s the real winner here? Me. Me and my superb night’s sleep.” 

“Fuck off,” Nina muttered, extracting a notebook from her bag and elbowing her girlfriend in the side as she did so. “You know what the English department are like with their timekeeping. He’s a newbie, there’s no way of telling what he’s gonna be: an early bird, or a ‘rocking up twenty minutes late because being on time is overrated’ type.”

Their professor strode into the room at that precise moment, a mess of grey curls framing a face like thunder above a worn velvet coat that had seen better days. He slammed a pile of books down on the lectern at the front and scowled around at the undergraduates, a visible silent appraisal taking place behind his eyes. “Right,” he barked in an inelegant Scottish brogue, clapping his hands together and beginning to stride back and forth as he spoke. “Notebooks away. I’m not one for this pissy note-taking. I want you to really _feel_ what I’m teaching.” 

“My money’s on him being the latter,” Nina muttered, but Clara wasn’t listening, her hand instead shooting into the air as her teeth worried her lip. “Fuck _sake…_ ”

“Excuse me?” she called down, and their lecturer turned his gaze to them, clearly displeased at having been interrupted. “Sorry, but… well, I’d like to pass this module really, and I can’t do that if you’re not going to lecture to the standards of the university. According to our educational charter of 2000, you’re required to provide us with a framework for each lecture, including a guided set of objectives and,” their professor began to ascend the steps of the lecture theatre to the row in which she was sat. “Thus enable us to achieve our maximum potential at all times.” 

“What’s your name?” he asked her, having reached her row and leaning down to speak to her. “Miss…?”

“That’s a sexist assumption,” she squeaked, refusing to be cowed by his intimidating height. “To reduce me to a title and a surname reinforces the reduction of women to a value only ascribed by their marital status.” 

“Name. Now.” 

“Clara Oswald,” she managed, scowling furiously and turning pink under the realisation that the entire lecture theatre was staring at her. “Final ye-” 

“Well, Miss Oswald,” he said with a sneer and a dismissive wave of his hand. “If I’m acting in a sexist manner by reducing you to your title and surname, I’ll reduce myself to mine. John Smith. _Professor_. Could you repeat that back to me?” 

“Professor Smith.” Clara muttered, refusing to meet his gaze but deciding to play his game, longing for the humiliating ordeal to be over. 

“So, Miss Oswald. You’ll notice a discrepancy there. _Miss_ Oswald. _Professor_ Smith. Me, professor. You, interfering little student. Now, I’d advise shutting up and – what was it? Achieving your maximum potential.” 

With a smirk, he turned on his heel and strode back to his lectern, picking up a book and beginning his diatribe, leaving Clara shaking with rage in his wake.

“Hey,” Nina whispered, reaching for her girlfriend’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “You were great.”

Clara made a small _hmph_ of disagreement, and cast her gaze down to her closed notebook, resolving not to let the incident slide.

 

* * *

 

“This is fucking bullshit, Neen,” Clara complained, flinging herself onto her bed. “Despite _every single person_ in that lecture complaining about him, the Faculty refuses to listen. Claims he’s got an impeccable CV including some bullshit research into Shakespeare’s lost folios. I googled him in the library and like… do you _know_ how many John Smiths there are? It’s impossible. A total fucking nightmare.” 

“Babe, do you not think you might be slightly overreacting?” 

“ _I am not overreacting,_ ” Clara snapped, then paused. “Imagine I said that without shouting.”

“Look, you did go a bit… Hermione Granger on him,” Nina stuck her hand in the air in a passable imitation of her girlfriend, bouncing in her seat as she strained to catch the attention of an imaginary professor. “’Ooh, ooh, pick me sir, I’m _ever_ so clever.’” 

“I hate you,” Clara gave her girlfriend a black look. “I do _not_ bounce like that.” 

“Parts of you do,” Nina winked at her, resuming her seat and kissing Clara’s shoulder. “Especially when-” 

“Do not bring my tits into a discussion about Professor Smith, because that is so incredibly _ew_ that I do not want the two to exist in the same theoretical discussion space.”

“Fine,” Nina snickered, resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder and curling into her more comfortably. “Look, you’re getting a bit hung up on this. That discussion he had about Christian symbology and the subliminal reinforcement of Christian moral values in children’s literature was brilliant.” 

“Yes,” Clara rolled her eyes, determined to make Nina understand her point. “But I didn’t get any notes from it. I wasn’t able to take any references down either, it was all hypothetical or idiots on the course offering their views. I can’t cite Jeremy in my essay. Or you.” 

“So just teach yourself the material then. That’s what you did last year with that bullshit French post-war literature module. And look how that went! Firsts all round.” 

“It’s final year, Neen,” Clara sighed, chewing her lip as she contemplated the issue. “I shouldn’t _need_ to be teaching myself anything! I should be receiving the required level of teaching as laid out by the university in accordance with its values.”

“So go and see him in person, instead of trying to challenge his authority-cum-masculinity in a lecture theatre,” Nina proposed. “Might go down a little better. Failing that, you could just try not being a moody bitch next lecture, and actually listen instead. Never know. Might do you some good.” 

“I was not a moody bitch,” Clara denied at once, then caught sight of Nina’s expression and relented. “OK, I was, but only slightly. Don’t give me that look. I just want what’s best for-” 

“Yourself,” Nina scowled slightly, irked by Clara’s attitude. “Like always. Everyone else loved the session, I don’t know what your problem is.” 

“Don’t make out like I’m being unreasonable,” Clara protested, kissing her girlfriend’s hair in an attempt to improve her mood. “I just want us both to do well. To get good degrees and good jobs and-” 

“Live out your five-year plan,” Nina finished, smiling softly. “I know, Clara. But sometimes you’ve just gotta go with it. Relax a little. Adapt. You need to give this a try. Please? For me?” 

Clara sighed deeply, running her hands over her face. “Fine,” she concurred, kissing Nina’s cheek and trying to relax. “For you, I’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s an idiot!” Clara exploded, striding out of her third lecture with Professor Smith. “That fucking smug little grin every time he cuts down my opinion. He just won’t listen to me on purpose. He’s doing it deliberately – think it’s funny to derail me, I’ll bet. He hates me, the sexist piece of shit.” 

“Clara…” Nina warned, holding up one hand to try and cut her girlfriend off mid-diatribe. 

“The sanctimonious prat, I bet he gets off on humiliating me in front of the class. I made some good points and he just kept on with that fucking irritating _smirk_ and the eyebrows and-” 

“Actually, Miss Oswald,” interjected a Scottish burr, and Clara spun on her heel to take in the sight of her lecturer behind her, eyebrows raised as he listened to his tirade. She felt her heart sink as she realised she’d been caught out. “Actually you made some good – albeit unsubstantiated – points, and I wanted to push you to develop them further.”

“So why the smirk?” 

“So why the dislike of me?” he countered, with an easy shrug of dismissal. “Is this about that little outburst in week one?” 

“It’s about…” Clara floundered for words, unsure how to proceed. “No.” 

“My office,” he suggested. “Then you can voice your concerns to me in person, rather than slagging me off to your peers. How’s that for an idea? Cut out the middle man?”

Clara looked around her with wide, panicked eyes. He knew the things she had said in confidence to others. Shit. _Shit._ “Urm,” she stuttered, trying desperately to think of an excuse. “I think I’m actually busy.” 

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Miss Oswald,” he clarified, gesturing in the direction of his office. “Come on. I won’t keep you for long.” 

“Fine…” she muttered ungraciously, shooting an apologetic glance at Nina and getting a horrified one in response. Turning, she began to follow him down the corridor, her feet dragging as she walked towards what she was certain was her doom. Eventually reaching the right door, Professor Smith unlocked it and showed her into a warm, comfortable office stacked high with leather-bound books, two navy-blue armchairs replacing the more typical plastic equivalents that Clara was familiar with.

“Do sit,” he invited, sinking into the chair behind his desk, and she took a seat across from him apprehensively. “Miss Oswald-” 

“Clara. Please, call me Clara.” 

“Very well,” he conceded with a small frown. “Clara, why do you have a problem with me?” 

“I don’t,” she lied, looking down to her lap to avoid the intensity of his stare. “I don’t have one.” 

“Your peers – and indeed some of my colleagues – have brought to my attention that you are unsatisfied with my classes. Including Nina.”

“Nina?!” Clara asked, her head snapping up and her glare burning into her professor at his mention of her girlfriend’s apparent betrayal of trust. “Nina told you that?” 

“No,” he clarified. “But I suspected that mentioning her might bring out a more honest response. I see I was right. She is your girlfriend, is she not?” 

“So what if she is? Are you a homophobic piece of shit, as well as a sexist pig?”

“I am neither of those things,” he informed her calmly. “I apologise for my unjust treatment of you in week one. If I had any idea how these things worked, I would have sent you an email along those lines, or apologised after class, but you did seem rather hell-bent on avoiding me like the plague.” 

“Oh,” she muttered, turning pink at his observation. “Places to go…” 

“Please do not do me the discourtesy of lying to me,” he requested. “You don’t like me; I would like you to tell me why.” 

“I just…” she struggled to find a way to phrase her concerns, mindful of what Nina would have called her egomania. “I don’t find your learning style beneficial to me.” 

“Clara, with respect, you are a final year student. If that is the case, you must adapt the material offered to maximise what you get from my classes. You are responsible for your own learning; I’m not going to spoon-feed you everything you need to know. You’re an incredibly bright young woman, and I want to see you develop your own ideas. That’s why I try to challenge you. I know you, I know you need that.” 

“You don’t know me.” 

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, affixing her with a long look. “I feel like I do, you know. That is, you seem very familiar to me.” 

“There’s a gobby one in every year,” Clara half-smiled at the change of topic, meeting his gaze shyly and noticing for the first time how blue his eyes were. “Usually northern too, so here I am – your walking, talking stereotype.”

He chuckled lightly. “So you’re the gobby northerner, that makes me the moody Glaswegian, I presume?” 

“You don’t sound Glaswegian,” Clara said with surprise. “More… I don’t know, just broadly _Scottish_.” 

“Ach, you English are terrible at our accents,” he teased, hamming up the dialect for her benefit before returning to his more neutral register. “I studied a lot in London, did a lot of travelling. The accent wore off a little, but don’t you worry. I go home and it floods right back. Glaswegian as you like.” 

“I’m the same,” Clara admitted with a chuckle. “Five minutes of being at home…” she caught herself, realising she had allowed herself to become distracted and digress from the issue. “Hang on, why are we chatting like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like… I don’t know, we’re mates or something. You’re my professor.” 

“Yes, I am,” he noted. “And I would also like to maintain a cordial relationship with my students, and that involves chatting with them about their lives and learning about them individually. Not that most of them are that interesting, but should you repeat that outside this classroom, I will dock you ten marks from your next essay. Up to you to work out how serious a threat that is.” 

Clara made a face at his deadpanned threat. “I believe you,” she confessed, then grinned. “I would like to hope that I rank among the more interesting.” 

“Well,” he mused, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “Can neither confirm or deny, as you refuse to let me see you really shine. Give it a couple more weeks and I’ll judge for myself.” 

“Is that a promise?” Clara chanced, her grin widening. “The great Professor Smith might actually warm up to me?”

“Get off with you,” he returned her smile, flapping his hands at her to go. “You’ve got that Barthes text to analyse. I’ll let you know how I feel in a week.”

 

* * *

 

Clara looked over at her sleeping girlfriend, her laptop balanced across her legs as she scrolled through further analyses of Barthes’ work, determined to impress Professor Smith. As she browsed through an online journal, there was a muted _ping_ from her university email programme.

 

 _Jbsmith1j08: shouldn’t you be asleep?_  

_This isn’t an email, you know._

_Emails are much too asynchronous for my liking. This is far easier. Ah, the marvels of modern technology._

_You can’t use emails but you can use IM?_

_I’m a paradoxical man, composed solely of juxtapositions._

_You also message like a fifty-year-old man. Most people stick to “lol.”_

_I AM a fifty-year-old man! Besides, “lol” is ineloquent._

_Whatever. Shouldn’t YOU be asleep? Instead of creeping on your students?_

_It’s not creeping, it’s expressing a legitimate concern for their pastoral welfare._

_I could actually see the smirk on your face as I read that._

_Well I refrained from smirking in our lecture today. At you, at least. Salient points made, Miss Oswald._

_Clara._

_Clara. I’m impressed._

_Warming up to me yet?_

_I couldn’t possibly comment on such a matter._

_Are you still at work, by the way? It’s 11pm, I thought you could only access emails there. Go home!_

_I’m a very clever man, Clara. I’m AT home, in bed._

_I’m in bed as well. With Nina. She’s asleep. I’m bored._

_Sounds like you need something to distract you…_

_Wait, I didn’t mean like that._

_I meant a journal or a book._

_Clara._

_Clara, I’m sorry._

_Clara??????????_

* * *

 

“Clara?” he called across the lecture theatre to her, and Nina gave her a look of delighted apprehension. 

“You’re for it,” she said gleefully. Clara had neglected to enlighten her girlfriend to the meeting between herself and Professor Smith, for reasons she didn’t fully fathom, and she’d further opted out of telling her about the awkward IM conversation. “Good luck mate, see you at home.” 

“Yeah,” Clara mumbled, slowly descending the steps to her lecturer with a sinking feeling in her chest. She watched the final few students straggle from the room, Professor Smith packing his bag to avoid looking at her. “What?” she asked, when the room was finally empty. 

“Clara, I wanted to apologise for last week,” he mumbled, turning a deep shade of maroon as he spoke. “I realised my wording of that message was bad, but I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by it.”

“I know,” Clara forced herself to shrug nonchalantly, trying to ignore the hammering of her heart in her chest. “It’s fine. No big deal.” 

“You ignored my apology emails.” 

“I was busy.” 

“Doing what?” he wondered aloud, frowning at the shortness of her replies. “Being with Nina?” 

“You know, you almost sound jealous,” Clara snapped, feeling irrationally irritated by his question for reasons she couldn’t quite comprehend. “That I have a life outside of university, that I have someone to screw. You’re not involved in any part of my life except this module. Go to hell.” 

She turned on her heel and stalked from the lecture theatre, heading to the library rather than home. She couldn’t face Nina: not like this, in this dark mood. She liked him, that much she knew. She liked him in a way that was entirely new and unfamiliar to her: liking a man, in _that_ way. Her professor, no less. He was handsome and he was clever and he was infuriating, and she _liked_ him. She swore at no-one in particular, earning herself a few peculiar looks as she slunk into a computer room, looking around her furtively as she took a seat and opened Google, typing in: 

_What to do when you think you fancy your professor_

“Nope,” she muttered under her breath, hitting backspace and trying to wish the feeling away. “Too specific.”

_I fancy someone I’m not dating_

Backspace.

_Not as gay as I thought I was help_

She sighed, hit the computer’s power button, stood up and walked out.

 

* * *

 

“Clara?” Nina asked conversationally one evening as they lay in bed in each other’s arms, still flushed from the afterglow of sex. “Why were you asking Jess about the Kinsey Scale earlier?” 

“It’s…” Clara swallowed, knowing she needed to divert Nina’s attention from the issue. “For an essay,” she lied easily. “I wanted to look at the romantic and sexual motivations of characters.” _Fuck,_ she thought to herself. _Now I actually have to do that._  

“Ah,” Nina grinned knowingly. “So where’d you rank yourself? I reckon I’m a happy six. Ladies all the way.”

Clara rolled away from her girlfriend fractionally, knowing she couldn’t avoid the question. “Dunno,” she shrugged a little, trying to downplay her answer. “Five? Maybe?” 

“Clara Oswald!” Nina exclaimed, closing the distance between them and tickling her girlfriend’s stomach, enjoying making her squirm and giggle. “Who are you being incidentally hetero with? Men are disgusting, remember?” 

“I mean,” Clara felt herself tense up and willed herself to relax, willed herself to come up with a feasible lie. “Fancying Jon Hamm counts as being incidentally hetero, right?” she lied, looking up at her girlfriend in trepidation. “Or George Clooney.” 

“Oh god,” Nina moaned, rolling her head back on the pillow in feigned sexual bliss. “Clooney. I would be incidentally hetero for Clooney. You’re forgiven.” 

“Good,” Clara whispered, nuzzling into Nina’s shoulder before she could see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

“Reading week,” Clara stated to the silence of her teenage bedroom. “Is the bestest week in the whole wide world. Love it.” 

Beside her, her laptop thrummed to life, opening at the last page she had been viewing. Glass of vodka and Coke in hand, Clara squinted down at it critically. 

“Boring,” she observed to the empty room. “Boring, boring, boring uni emails. _Boring._ S’boring. What’s not boring? Nina. Nina is fun fun funnnnnnn. And being home is fun. And being a bit pissed is the mostest fun of all. What’s not fun is fancying that man. That weird man.” 

She downed the remainder of her drink for courage. 

“That weird _man_ is pretty dishy,” she giggled to herself at the admission of this fact. “But I should definitely let him know. Come on and let him knowwwwwww… I should stay with Nina and not goooooo. As The Clash definitely said.” 

_Helloooooooooooo Professor Smith_

_Clara? Are you alright?_

_I’m at home_

_I’m a bit pissed_

_It’s reading week though, it’s what it’s for right????????????????_

_I think it’s actually for reading. And studying. You know, that sort of thing. Clara, it’s midnight._

_I’ll try not to turn into a pumpkin_

_I would be a sexy pumpkin_

_Maybe I could do that for Halloween?_

_I’m quite round, Nina says that a lot_

_Especially my boobs_

_Er, right._

_I don’t know what to say other than go to sleep._

_Wanna go to sleep but I’m lonely_

_Come and make me not-lonely_

_Isn’t Nina with you?_

_Nina is at her home studying like a boring little nerdypants_

_Right. Clara, you’ve had too much to drink._

_You’re going to say something you regret._

_Like what?_

_I think I’m more likely to not say something and regret not saying it_

_Like not telling you that I think you’re really foxy_

_A right old silver fox_

_I think about you allllllll the time_

_It’s very distracting ;)_

_Clara, I’m going to go to sleep now. You should too._

_Goodnight._

* * *

 

Clara took a deep breath, raising her clenched fist and knocking on Professor Smith’s door before she could chicken out or flee in embarrassed terror. She’d skipped her class with him in favour of staying in the library, lying to Nina about needing to study rather than attend. 

“Come in!” he called, and she entered the room with her heart in her mouth, watching the colour drain from his face at the sight of her. “Ah.” 

“Hi,” she began uncertainly, dithering in the centre of the room instead of taking a seat. “I ah…” 

“Are you going to sit down?” he asked, cutting her awkward stammering off. “Or are you going to just loiter?” 

“Urm,” she bit down on her lip, making her mind up. “Loiter, I guess. Height advantage.” 

“Not much of one,” he said drily, and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry.” 

“No, I’m the sorry one,” she sighed, the words spilling out of her in a rush: “I shouldn’t have… you must think I’m a right prat, I barely know you and I’ve got a girlfriend and I came out with all that _crap_ about fancying you.” 

“I barely know _you_ ,” he concurred, before making an admission: “But I feel like… well, I don’t know. I feel like I know you. I feel like you’re… familiar. Bizarre, but true.” 

“Not that bizarre,” she shrugged, unsure why she felt the same sentiment. “I’m sorry, anyway. About the things I said.” 

“Well,” he smiled up at her from his seat at his desk. “It’s very flattering to know that I still inspire such passion in the young.” 

Clara rolled her eyes. “You’re aware how cocky that sounded, right?” 

He turned a delicate shade of pink. “I didn’t mean it to. I’m terrible at apologies.” He stood up, rounding his desk to lean against it companionably, looking across to her with a wary but teasing eye. “I _am_ flattered though.” 

“Are you?” Clara looked up at him, widening her eyes as she did so, deciding on a course of action in that instant. She was through with being careful and with trying to lie to herself. “Why?”

“Because… because…” he stammered uncertainly, disconcerted by her proximity and the coquettish look on her face. “Because you’re a very attractive woman. Oh god, don’t thump me for being a sexist pig.” 

“I won’t thump you,” she breathed, taking a step closer to him and feeling her breathing hitch in anticipation of what she was about to do. “However... kissing you… that I can do.” Before he could respond, she reached up and pressed her lips to his, feeling him respond to her, one of his hands coming to rest on her waist as he kissed her back.

“Clara…” he murmured when she pulled away. “This is a bad idea… what about Nina…?” 

“Nina doesn’t have to know,” she assured him, kissing him again to keep him from asking any more questions or giving voice to her doubts. “This is my little… experiment.” 

“Experiment?” he asked, wounded by her words, but she only pouted in response and kissed his neck, allaying his hurt.

“Well, I thought I was gay,” she told him with feigned, wide-eyed innocence. “Then I met this really dashing professor of English, you see. So honestly, I need to explore my theory. It’s just being a diligent student.” 

“And your theory would be?” he managed, his voice only slightly strangled by the thought of what she was suggesting.

“That kissing my English professor turns me on.” 

She kissed him again for good measure, then pulled away with a smirk, turning and sashaying from his office with both a buoyant and guilty heart.

 

* * *

 

_Happy Christmas! I know you said you didn’t do texting, but I’m at my dad’s and I can’t phone xxxx_

_Happy Christmas, I miss you xxxx_

_Soppy old git. You’ve only got to be patient until next week! Then I’m yours xx_

_Next week is ages away though! I’m having toast in bed on my tod. Wish you were here keeping me warm._

_Wait until next week and I will be!_

_I’m in bed in my bra and pants._

_Wish YOU were HERE, we could do something as a winter warmer ;)_

_Christ it’s like you want me to die of a heart attack_

_I need to survive until next week, Clara_

_If you want to continue to “explore your theory” ;)_

_How do you manage to make sex sound so unsexy?_

_Hey, it’s your phrasing! And your… you know._

_For the last time, John, it’s not my first time. I’ve slept with Nina hundreds of times._

_You know what I meant, Clara. xxx_

_Sorry. Have a great day, I’ll try and call you later. Might send some pictures ;) xxxx_

_I look forward to both events eagerly xx_

* * *

 

“Babe?” Nina asked, as Clara unwound the scarf from her neck and cast it aside, enjoying the warmth of her flat after the chill of outside. “What’s that on your neck?” 

Clara’s smile flickered, her brow furrowing. “What’s what?” 

“That fuck-off massive hickey. On your neck.” 

“That isn’t a hickey.”

“If that isn’t a hickey, I’m Angelina Jolie,” Nina folded her arms and affixed Clara with an icy stare. “Do you want to stop lying to me, or do you respect me enough to tell me the truth?”

“That’s unfair.” 

“No Clara, what’s unfair is that _you’ve_ been fucking weird with me for the last six weeks. You barely let me get close to you, we never spend any time together, and you’re paranoid as fuck; twitchy all the time and looking over your shoulder! I’m not an idiot, Clara,” she paused, looking to Clara with sadness. “Tell me the truth. Are you seeing someone?” 

“I…” Clara swallowed, knowing she couldn’t maintain the lie any longer. “Yes.”

“OK,” Nina’s eyes filled with tears, but she swallowed and continued as bravely as she was able: “Who?” 

“Does it matter who?” 

“Yes it goddamn matters who,” Nina snapped, needing an answer to her question. “Is it a guy?” 

“Y-yes,” Clara admitted, looking away from her girlfriend guiltily, knowing that it would hurt her. “It is.” 

“Fucking hell,” Nina groaned as realisation dawned. “Is this hence the sliding up the Kinsey Scale?” 

“Yes.”

“Christ. _Christ._ Who is it?” 

“Nina, please.” 

“ _Who is it_?” Nina repeated more loudly, looking to Clara with barely-suppressed anger in her eyes. “Four years together, Clara. Four years. If you respect me at all, you’ll tell me. Now.” 

“It’s John.” 

“John who?” 

“Professor Smith.” 

Nina’s hand connected sharply with Clara’s cheek, and then the door slammed as she swept from the house, leaving Clara alone to consider what she had done.

 

* * *

 

Clara took a seat in the National Gallery, the man she had come to meet shifting slightly along the bench to accommodate her at his side. She reached across and took him by the hand, squeezing it and noting the new wrinkles in the skin, dreading what they signified. 

“Been a long time,” she said softly, and he chuckled, then coughed for what seemed like hours. “How long, for you?” 

“Couple of millennia,” he looked to her with eyes that had once been bright and warm, but were clouded with age and fatigue. “A flash in the pan for you, I’m sure.” 

“I took a shortcut,” she admitted with a small shrug, trying to maintain an upbeat façade for his sake. “Perks of having a time machine.” 

“Ah yes,” the figure smiled fondly, squeezing her hand as he asked: “How is the old girl?”

“Fixed the chameleon circuit, but she’s still the diner. Seems to like that form. Maybe because it was the last time I saw you.” 

The Doctor abandoned his sense of propriety and slipped an arm around her shoulders, holding her against him as he confessed: “Not the last time _I_ saw _you_ , though.” 

“Doctor!” she chided, horrified by the thought of what he might been doing. “You haven’t been…”

“No, I haven’t been looking for you,” he assured her, then clarified: “Couldn’t until recently anyway.” 

“You said on the phone, yeah,” she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder and listening to the familiar double-beat of his hearts. “I’m glad it wore off. But stop avoiding my question. What do you mean, not the last time you saw me?” 

The Doctor shifted evasively, clearing his throat before speaking. “Well,” he began, then paused. “I didn’t look like this then. I was Scottish, with the eyebrows and the velvet jacket. Angry. Hurting. Trying to recover from losing you, even if I didn’t remember you. I did… well, a thing. Sent myself back in time, made myself human… tried to just be normal. Tried to forget. But there was still a link there…”

“Hang on,” Clara frowned slightly as she understood what he was hinting at, pieces beginning to click into place. “ _When_ did you go?”

“Late in-” 

“2007,” Clara finished, tears burning her eyes as she understood. “Oh my god. All that time… all that time I wondered where you went after Nina found out! And then when Bow-Tie regenerated… I tried to tell myself it was just a coincidence, tried to blame that spatial genetic multiplicity thing you were always harping on about… I tried to forget it… but I never did.” 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair as she began to cry at the futility of the situation. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t until much later… I never realised it was _you_ …” 

“I love you,” Clara murmured into his shoulder, determined to get the words out at last. “Always have. Every form of you, in every way.”

“Oh my Clara,” he stroked her hair soothingly, letting her cry. “And I you.”


End file.
